She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. "I wouldn't give a betel-nut for a man who wouldn't stick to his guns, if he believed himself in the right. 32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 16-09-2024 18:18:12
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